


Comfort To You

by Vax (soulstice)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood, Groping, M/M, Masturbation, Musician/businessman au, Porn With Plot, Tobacco use, alcohol use, au based on a song, handjob, idk what are tags, will be nsfw in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulstice/pseuds/Vax
Summary: McCree is a local musician who doesn't seem to want to leave his hometown.Hanzo is a traveling businessman who gets stuck in a wasteland when his flight gets delayed.But one song and too much liquor will draw them together.





	1. Comfort to You

**Author's Note:**

> Fic idea based off of the song Comfort To you by Cullah.  
> For the full effect, I suggest listening to it either before or while you read it, as it is the song Jesse plays, though it is not required.  
> But its a pretty good song and inspired this heavily.
> 
> First time writing these boys, and this is unbeta'd, so please feel free to leave your commentary!
> 
> This fic will be NSFW in later chapters, so forewarning!

Fingers plucked at strings, testing the tuning of his old wooden acoustic. The sound of rain pattering against the metal roof of the run down establishment and a blistering crack of thunder was drowned out mostly by the patrons who chattered away, filling the space before him. Adjusting himself on his stool, he cleared his throat and took a sip from his glass and stumped out his cigar, the smoke briefly continuing to pool from the end as he neared his face to the microphone before him. 

With a glance off stage and a nod from the sound guy, the amp was turned on and he was live. 

Those calloused fingers began the song, a simple string of notes at a moderate tempo. His head dipped, the brim of his hat hiding part of his face creating a sort of ambiance to the show--- he found that it drew more people in if he truly "performed." 

At the bar, sat a man on business. Normally, he didn't attend such... shabby institutions. But his flight out of town had been delayed, and the next departure wasn't for another two days. This left him with far too much time on his hands and a frustration that no amount of sake could quell. 

He was ready to up and leave to the hotel that he had so graciously been offered by the airline when he heard the sudden strumming of a guitar. He turned in his seat at the bar, eyes falling on the obviously Southern man, donned in leather boots and a hat to match. The tune matched his appearance, as if the notes he plucked could somehow have a drawl to them. 

But it wasn't until the man began to sing that he was truly captivated. 

His voice was low and thick, just raspy enough from an obvious abuse of hard liquor and smoke. Fingers tapped on the bar, signaling to the barkeep to send him another down. He was far too curious to merely walk away from this. 

Back on stage, the musician carried on with his song, the words pouring from his heat chapped lips like liquid honey. A song about comfort—a song about oneself. A common theme for the likes of him, though he felt it had a twist to the usual. The audience began to quiet, or at least it seemed to. The atmosphere grew thick and heavy, threatening to choke all those who inhaled it. 

As the first chorus waned, dark eyes briefly lifted from beneath the leather hat, immediately capturing those of a man who was so painfully out of place. Who in their right mind wore a suit to a place like this? His own eyes narrowed as fingers continued to carry through the long instrumental bridge, the tension within the room building as his body began to sway to the beat, the audience soon following suit. The aura grew darker as the music seemed to seep into the air in an intense, exotic... damn near erotic way. 

Those same dark eyes closed as the tune carried into the next stanza. His voice grew in power and emotion. He could feel a chill run through the room, could see the goosebumps rising to the skin of the listeners. This was the kind of experience he lived for. His eyes opened once more as those last few lines were sung with the wholeness of his soul, capturing those dark eyes that watched him intently from the bar. 

He could swear he saw him visibly shiver from across the room. 

And he couldn't help but smirk and offer a wink as deft fingers worked at the strings in a practiced precision to finish the song. 

As it concluded, the audience offered their applause, some even moving to the edge of the stage, tossing a few loose bills and change into the open guitar case he had left at his feet. He offered his gratitude with a drawl that one might not have expected from his singing voice. 

"Ya'll have been a wonderful audience- as always. I'll be back with an encore, if I don't get too smashed 'forehand." 

A hand lifted to tip his hat as he stood, guitar swinging to his side as he offered a bow of the head. He retrieved his cigarillo and glass, tucking his guitar in the case before toting it offstage. 

At the bar, the businessman was awestruck. He had never had a taste for American music- but what he had just witnessed had been something else entirely. It was as if it held a life all its own. He had nearly ditched his drink entirely, forgetting to breathe for moments during the performance. 

When the man had disappeared behind the stage, he suddenly came to his senses, realizing he may have lost his chance to figure out a name or anything—why he had wanted it in the first place was beyond him, but he was clearly not thinking straight anymore. 

It was the alcohol. Of course. 

He needed some fresh air to cool his head. 

On that whim, he grabbed his glass, knocking back the rest of the contents and making his way through the crowd to the door that led to the back patio. Once he finally pushed his way outside, the crisp air hit his lungs like a fresh glass of water. Luckily the patio was covered, which meant shielding from the storm, but it did not save him from the storm's chilled air. 

Nor did it save him from the musician from catching him off guard. 

"Howdy, darlin'. Reckon you ain't from these parts, are ya? Name's McCree, but you can call me Jesse. What's a mighty fine guy like you doin' in a podunk town like'is?" 

The business man froze, entire chest tight as if the wind had stolen the breath from his lungs. He barely comprehended what was said, but luckily, he heard enough to not make a total fool of himself. 

"Hanzo... And, no. I was merely here for a connecting flight, but due to the precarious weather, my flight out was delayed. I figured I could pass the time at the local bar, as many had suggested to me." 

McCree smirked and placed a hand on his hips as he puffed on that thick cigarillo. "Hope it met all yer expectations, Hanzo. Sorry 'bout yer flight though." 

Hanzo shook his head and held up a hand. "You do not need to apologize. You did nothing wrong." 

McCree opened his mouth to say something about southern hospitality, but closed it, knowing it likely wouldn't do much good. Instead he chuckled, taking a sip from his refilled glass of whiskey. 

"Did'ja enjoy th' show?" 

Hanzo blinked and looked up to the musician, who gazed down at him expectantly and curious. Hanzo took a deep breath, composing himself, and trying to rid his chest of the knot that formed. "It was... very different. But, dare I say......... enchanting." 

McCree's eyes lit up and his smile widened with a sparkle to match. "Enchantin'? Ain't never heard that one before. Well, the pleasure's all mine, darlin'." 

Hanzo's eyes averted, wishing he had his own glass to hide behind. The silence between them drew on, until McCree finally broke it again. 

"So. What kin'a business you runnin'?" 

"It matters not. Private matters that need not concern you." 

McCree raised a hand in defense. "Woah, sug, I ain't try'n' ta pry or nothin'. Just trying to strike up some conversation." 

Hanzo took a deep breath before sighing, reaching up to grab the glass out of McCree's hand and swallowing it in a single gulp. McCree stood there dumbfounded as he watched the whole thing, laughing nervously. 

"You alright there, Han?" 

With another deep breath, Hanzo stepped forward, squaring off his shoulders and making eye contact with the musician. "Your song- Everything. It was intoxicating and I cannot help but want to learn more about the man who performed it so beautifully." 

McCree blinked, stunned, before his lips broke into a crooked smile and laughter bubbled from his chest. Once it subsided, a hand lifted to place on Hanzo's shoulder firmly. "No need to be so stern about it, darlin'. It'd be my pleasure. Where you stayin' at tonight?" 

"The hotel near the airport." 

"Now, now, that just won't do. You want a true taste of country livin' and the man behind the music, you gotta come to my place for a bit, y'hear?" 

"I. I would like that very much. Thank you, McCree." 

"Jesse." 

"Of course. Jesse." 

McCree grinned and gave him a pat. "Let me wrap up shop an' tell the boys I'm headed out so they don't worry too much. Meet me out front in five?" 

Hanzo nodded as McCree disappeared back into the bar. He stumbled backwards slightly, his back slamming against the wall of the building with a sigh. What the hell was he doing? Going to some stranger's house after a night of drinking? But—What his brother had said before his departure really stuck with him. 

Loosen up, bro. Live a little or life is going to pass before you even realize It's gone. 

Hanzo steeled himself, a newfound determination. Live. Experience life. He only hoped this wasn't going to bite him in the ass later. 

He finally made his way back into the bar and pushed his way through the crowd to et to the front door. Once outside, McCree was already waiting for him, standing next to a motorcycle and rummaging in the pack that was attached to the side. He glanced up upon hearing Hanzo approach and gave him that award winning smile. 

"I damn near thought you got lost er somethin'. Here." A hand extended and offered a helmet to Hanzo, who tentatively took it, turning it over in his hands as if it were some foreign object. After a moment, McCree chuckled and stood, closing the distance between them. He took the helmet back and tucked it under his arm. Calloused fingers touched Hanzo's hair, pushing it back out of his face. 

Hanzo swore he saw stars. 

Once McCree was satisfied that his hair was in position, he pulled the helmet over Hanzo's head and fit the strap under his chin. With a small step back, he looked it over, adjusting it slightly before grinning and grabbing his own. 

"Sorry I ain't got much better. I promise it'll be a short ride and I'll get you warm 'n' dry in no time."


	2. Riverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There may be more to this than either of them even hoped for.
> 
> Chapter title based off the song Riverse by Cullah.

The ride was short, just as Jesse had promised, but his suit was still soaked. Though, experiencing the sensation of wind whipping by him while rain pattered against their forms was nothing short of thrilling. Jesse had parked his bike next to a wooden porch and pulled at the kickstand before settling it down. His leg was thrown off the side before a hand extended to offer its assistance to Hanzo. 

Hanzo slid a hand into the other and pulled himself off the girth of the bike between his legs. His nice dress shoes immediately sank into mud, a disgusted look creeping onto his features. 

Jesse couldn't help but laugh as he ushered him into the humble farmhouse. He kicked off his own muddy boots and Hanzo followed suit, tucking them next to the door. 

As Jesse slunk into his home, Hanzo lingered by the door, taking in his surroundings. The house was... modest. Mostly wood décor, scattered woven rugs on both floor and wall, decorations that could only be described as Western or Southern—though, he reminded himself he shouldn't be surprised, given the man's entire... aura of existence. 

His eyes wandered and found the man meddling in the kitchen with his back turned, wet shirt already stripped and tossed on the back of a wooden chair. Suddenly, Hanzo was assaulted with the aroma of spiced smoke and the sound of liquid pouring. Curious, Hanzo crossed the threshold of the entryway and further into this man's, this Jesse McCree's, home. He wanted out of these sopping wet clothes, but the thought of ridding himself of any of it in a situation like this gave him pause. 

Just as silent feet touched the floor of the kitchen, Jesse turned around, cigarillo dangling between lips and two honey amber drinks in hand. One was offered to him with that devilish smirk that made Hanzo's pulse quicken for a moment as he took it gingerly with a soft thank you. 

Jesse lifted his now free arm and leaned it against the wall, draping casually as dark eyes looked Hanzo up and down in the dim lighting. 

"You look mighty fine all wet like that, y'know." 

Hanzo gulped as his own eyes dipped to steal a moment's glance at McCree's bare chest, still damp, hair sticking to toned, tan skin. He felt his face become warm, immediately thankful for the glass in his hand, lifting it to take a hefty swallow. He coughed suddenly, the bitter taste taking him off guard. 

"What is this rancid substance...?" 

"Finest Tequila on this side of the border, darlin'." 

Hanzo made a face, nose scrunching as he lifted the glass to his nose before giving it a second opinion. 

Jesse smirked and took a hefty swallow of his own before pushing off the wall. "I oughta 'pologize for not havin' anythin' fancier. Cain't afford much, what with my music only offering enough to pay the bills 'n' such." 

Hanzo's face drooped slightly, a pang of guilt deep in his chest. "But your music was... incredible." 

"Incredible ain't always pay up, darlin'. But it's alright. I have another job on the side that helps make up the difference. Let's me keep up with my music too. But enough about that." 

McCree chewed on the end of his cigarillo, hand lifting to tug gently at Hanzo's drenched suit. 

"Let's get ya out of these and into something more comfortable." 

Hanzo merely nodded as he stepped away, forcing Jesse to relieve his grip. With a nearly sinful chuckle, Jesse led him down the hall to his own bedroom. Hanzo nursed his glass of tequila as Jesse rummaged through drawers trying to find something suitable. After a moment, he pulled out a flannel button down and a pair of sweatpants- drawstring, of course. There was no way Hanzo was the same size as him. Jesse damn near melted at the thought of Hanzo drowning in his clothes. The thought made him shiver, but he hoped it only appeared as if the air was chilling his damp skin. 

He extended the clothes to his guest who shyly grabbed the pile with a small nod. Jesse sipped at his drink, his eyes dark, watching intently. 

Hanzo shifted awkwardly in place. He wasn't about to change right there in front of this man, despite his... sinful thoughts. But words caught in this throat, unable to ask where he could retreat to. 

The rising tension between them finally broke as Jesse lifted his chin, that predatory glance fading into something a bit warmer. "Let me leave ya to change. I'll be in the livin' room." 

Hanzo swore he had been standing there for ages, but he was sure it only lasted about a minute. He shivered as Jesse's chest brushed against his arm as he passed back through the doorway, leaving him alone in his bedroom. 

With a heavy, shuddering breath, he composed himself and set the pile of clothes on the bed. He began to remove his soaked clothes, grimacing as he picked up the stench of the bar mixed with mud sticking to the fabric. Eyes fell onto an attached bathroom and he immediately padded over to it, making sure to drape his suit out to dry. He wondered if this man even had a washer and dryer in a place like this... 

He grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself off, goosebumps still littering his skin as the chilled air hit his bare form. He caught a sight of himself in the full length mirror, admiring himself for a short moment. All his training was truly paying off. 

While Hanzo freshened up, Jesse paced about his home, filling his glass another time. It had been some time since he'd had someone in his home, and it made him anxious. Puffing on his cigarillo, he settled into a chair and grabbed one of his guitars and began to play to calm his nerves. 

Eyes fell closed as fingers picked and strummed, losing himself in the song. Was he singing? He couldn't tell. 

He didn't even notice when Hanzo emerged from his bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, watching him. 

It wasn't until the song concluded that Jesse realized how much time had passed. He glanced up once he heard delicate applause, chuckling nervously as eyes fell upon the businessman. 

"Sorry. Got a little carried away." 

"Please do not apologize on my account. It was lovely." 

Jesse tucked the guitar and stood from his seat, finally seeing Hanzo dressed in his clothes. He swallowed, a smirk rising to lips as he crossed the living room over to him. "Ya think so? I could show you a better time than that if ya fancied?" 

Hanzo nearly spat out his drink at the proposal. He coughed lightly, covering his mouth with a hand as the glass was set down before he dropped it entirely. He shot Jesse a look and sighed. It wasn't exactly like he didn't want to. He cursed himself at the realization. He was here on business and nothing else. Getting... wrapped up with some local would not bode well for him. He knew that. And yet-- 

He was drawn to this man. 

He took a small step forward, his raised hand lowering to graze fingertips across Jesse's chest and abdomen. The soft gesture made Jesse shiver. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced—electric and. 

Dangerous. 

"Shall we take 'is to my bedroom, darling?" 

Hanzo swallowed, gaze lowering to his hand. "Is this part of that 'southern hospitality' you were referring to, Mr McCree?" 

Without another word, Jesse grabbed Hanzo's arm and pushed him backwards, forcing the smaller man to stumble backwards. Words tried desperately to form but only came out as a series of short noises as he struggled to keep upright and comprehend just what was happening. 

His breath was stolen a moment too soon as Jesse bent over, grabbing Hanzo's strong jaw and capturing his lips. It was as if every bit of air was sucked from his lungs, hands gripping Jesse's forearms tightly, body lifting to meet him. 

It was just the alcohol. Surely. 

One of Jesse's hands found the bottom hem of the shirt Hanzo was given, pushing beneath it to rub rough skin against him. Hanzo could feel every practiced callous, but his brow furrowed still, as if he could tell they weren't built from the strings of a guitar alone. 

Those thoughts were quickly stolen as Jesse licked his bottom lip, urging Hanzo's lips apart before pressing his tongue inside. His hand continued to explore--- up, up, up. Hanzo shivered, a small gasp formed between their mouths as fingers ghosted over his nipples. 

Hanzo could feel Jesse smirk mischievously at that realization. It made him shiver, feeling a heightened sense of danger, but one he craved. He was tired of the monotony of an office, of following the rules and the expectations of his seniors. If he could live, if even only for that night, in the danger of this man's gaze, he would revel in it. 

So, when that hand dipped lower, slipping between the cloth of the loose sweatpants and his skin, he only shuddered and arched his back slightly. Jesse immediately took notice and considered it an invitation to continue. 

That large hand wrapped around Hanzo's growing length, eliciting a soft moan. Jesse could only hum deeply in response, thoroughly pleased. He languidly stroked the length, his thumb teasing the tip each time as Hanzo's head dropped to his shoulder, unable to handle the sensation of it all. 

Before Hanzo knew what was happening, Jesse removed his hand and scooped up the businessman and carried him into his bedroom. Hanzo nearly shrieked as he was lifted, but clung to his neck all the same. 

Jesse half tossed Hanzo onto his bed among the sheets and furs. Hanzo's hand immediately clutched a smokey gray pelt, feeling a pang In his chest—almost like home, but was pulled from his thoughts as Jesse dropped down on top of him, arms on either side of his head. Hanzo blinked up at him, face flushed. Jesse looked... positively deadly in the best way in this lighting- the occasional flash from the lightning through the window illuminating his form as he descended on to his lips, hand yanking off the clothes he had only just offered to him. 

Hanzo complied easily, lifting hips to aid in the removal of pants and assisting with buttons on his shirt, leaving him exposed underneath this powerful man. He squirmed at every touch as Jesse left his lips, trailing hungry kisses and nips down his jawline and neck. Jesse's hand continued stroking Hanzo's now throbbing cock. Hanzo had to steel himself to keep from thrusting into his hand as teeth found his lower lip in the hope of biting back any moans that were too desperate. 

Jesse, however, reveled in every sound he made. They only served to drive him forward with more determination. He was on a mission to give this man the best damn fuck of his life. 

As fate would have it, luck was not on Jesse McCree's side that night. 

As if on queue, Jesse's phone buzzed violently on his night stand. Jesse froze, eyes slowly lifting to the illuminated screen. His heart sank immediately. 

There was only one person who ever dared to call him at this reason. 

He looked down at Hanzo, who had already grown frustrated. "Jesse McCree—Do not dare answer that phone call." 

"Ah- Darlin' I'm so sorry, but I gotta--" 

Hanzo gripped on his pants, pulling him down on top of him as Jesse reached over to grab the phone. He groaned deeply, definitely not wanting this to end. "I promise, sugar, I'll make it up to ya---" He glanced at the phone screen and his suspicions had been correct. He answered the call much to both his and Hanzo's dismay, even as Hanzo dragged sharp nails down his chest. 

He half groaned, half moaned into the phone as he offered his greeting. "Bo-oss.." 

"Sorry to interrupt, McCree, but I need you. It's urgent, all hands on deck. Be down at headquarters in fifteen minutes or I will come find you." 

The phone line went dead before Jesse could try to object- not that he could, even if he wanted to. He looked down at Hanzo who was half fuming, half concerned. 

"Look, Han—It's bus'ness. Please try to understand and try to forgive me, a'ight? I'll be back 'fore you know it. Just. Hang tight." 

He pulled himself from the bed and quickly dressed—completely different attire than what Hanzo saw him in at the bar. Black on black, leather vest and a... poncho? He saw the glint of something metal that was quickly tucked away and hidden. 

"Make yourself at home. Just. Please don't leave." 

Hanzo saw a glint in those dark eyes that caused him to nod in as much understanding as he could. But his chest grew tight as he covered himself in the soft sheets of his bed, watching Jesse tip his hat, still apologizing. 

He felt like a fool. Alone in a strangers home, naked, wet and exposed. He was terrified. 

Not for himself, but for this mysterious man. This Jesse McCree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't originally intend for this to get angsty but the idea came to me and my angst fueled self couldn't resist. Already writing the third chapter so hopefully I'll get it posted soon!


	3. Dueling Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from a song by the artist Cullah

In Jesse's absence, Hanzo was forced to face his utter stupidity. He lay there amidst the huge bed, completely nude and unsatisfied. He lifted a hand to his head, realizing he was sobering up, and quickly. 

He lay there for moments after he heard the front door slam shut and the motorcycle roar in the storm that still raged outside. He couldn't help but wonder what was so urgent that he had to leave. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful or not- if having sex with that man would have been a mistake. Fingers raked through his drying hair as he sat up in bed. 

He couldn't shake that gnawing feeling that something wasn't right. But there wasn't anything he could do about it. It wasn't as if he could leave either. It was impossibly dark outside, storming, and he had no idea where he was or how to get back to his hotel. He wasn't even sure this town had a taxi system.

The combination of adrenaline and alcohol in his system was still keeping his heart racing. His hands grasped at the sheets around him. He could still smell he lingering hints of Jesse-- the spiced smoke, the whiskey and leather. Lips pulled in a sharp breath when he noticed that he was still impossibly hard. His nose curled in distaste and frustration. How dare this man leave Hanzo unsatisfied and confused like that. 

Teeth found his bottom lip as a hand ventured over his still bare chest, testing his will. Should he really do something so vulgar? Especially in a stranger's bed. 

Against his better judgement, he dipped his hand lower, sucking in another sharp breath as fingers found their way into the hair just above his throbbing cock. At that point, he was in too deep, his mind wandering too far into what could have been. 

Eyes fluttered closed as he imagined Jesse still posed over him, that mouth of his kissing along his neck. His own fingers found his mouth, tongue working over them to wet them as much as he could. He was beyond rummaging through drawers to find Jesse's stash of lubricant and far too embarrassed to find what may be found in those drawers. He simply didn't want to know right now. All he wanted was the feeling of Jesse pressing his own fingers inside him, spreading him apart delicately but with enough passion behind it to drive him mad. 

He worked himself open with one hand, soft moans escaping his lips as his hips lifted off the bed ever so slightly. The threat that Jesse could return at any time and find him like this barely crossed his mind- and yet it only served to work him up more. His other hand found his cock and stroked it firmly, the added stimulation already threatening to send him right over the edge.

It had been far too long since he'd done anything of this nature, even alone in the comfort and privacy of his own home. He was always so focused on his business, stressed about making sure everything was going smoothly, that he barely had any time to think about pleasures of the body, even less so about whether or not he wanted to seek it out.

He thought about Jesse McCree- man of music and mystery. A man who drank whiskey and smoked cigarillos and rode motorcycles and disappeared suddenly. A man who had tempted him from his voice alone, as if he was some kind of siren luring him into a trap. His body arched and moved against the furs and silks of his bed sheets, surrounded by his scent as he continued to pleasure himself, growing ever closer to that release. He wanted to be found like this- every time he grew dangerously close to that peak, he forced himself down, hoping that Jesse would peak his head through the door and give him what he really wanted.

It was shameful to be thinking this way- but that didn't stop Hanzo in those moments. Perhaps his brother was right- perhaps he really should let loose from time to time.

After doing this a few times, Hanzo couldn't stand it anymore. His hands were growing tired and he was far too pent up to keep it up anymore. His pace quickened as he turned over in the sheets, his head pressed deeply into the pillows as he worked himself with fervor. Jesse's name fell from his lips as that peak grew near one last time and before he knew it was happening, his eyes screwed shut and he swore he saw stars. He groaned hoarsely as he spilled himself into his hand, thankful that he was able to capture most of it.

He collapsed into the bed, panting heavily as he came down from his high. The rest of the alcohol had seemed to fade away and he was able to really see the room around him. He found a box of tissues on the side table and cleaned himself up and tossed it into the waste bin not too far from it. 

With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself from the bed, redressing himself as bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor below him. He shivered, feeling the chill of the storm air for the first time since they had arrived here. Jesse had seemed to fill the space around him with an undeniable warmth that Hanzo found himself missing. He wasn't sure how long Jesse would be gone. He said soon but even after all of that, he probably had some time to kill. 

He ventured beyond the bedroom, taking in the home from a new perspective. There was a.. was it a cow skull hanging on the wall? And perhaps a hide hung near it. Cowboys were truly lacking in taste, Hanzo decided.

His legs carried him further in towards the kitchen, still able to smell the spice of whatever McCree had been smoking earlier. He found the bottle of liquor he could only assume was poured from when they arrived. Eyes squint as he saw a weird lump at the bottom of it. He lifted the bottle to inspect it, nearly throwing it when he saw it was a dead scorpion. He nearly gagged at the realization he had consumed some of it, quickly putting it away and pushing it as far away as possible.

Hanzo busied himself with inspecting various items, trying to take a peak into the mysterious life of this man. Hands grazed over his instruments, cleaned up the bits of garbage that lay strewn about. He poked into the small bookshelf, curious what this man could possibly read. Westerns, that much had been obvious. Romance novels were more of a surprise. Gun proficiency books, gun magazines, collectors guides.

Time continued to pass, and Hanzo found himself growing more restless. He ventured back into the kitchen, eyes falling on the coffee pot he had seen earlier. Jesse wouldn't mind if he brewed a pot... would he? He hesitated before steeling himself to rummage through the cabinets to find beans. 

He came up short, only finding cheap grounds. Of course this man didn't know a fine cup of coffee even if it was poured over his head. He settled and quickly set the pot up to brew. At least Jesse had milk and sugar to mask the taste of the sludge he had to drink.

Just as he settled into a chair at the small table, he heard the door flung open, slamming against the wall and the sound of... too many pairs of feet. He shot up, coffee still in hand as he poked his head nervously around the corner. Commands were spat in a tongue he was unfamiliar with but his eyes fell to what the few intruders were carrying.

A limp, bloody Jesse McCree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this turned angsty quick. Please don't hate me?


End file.
